The Best Man For the Job
by FootLeeismysexysensei
Summary: A heartwarming story of a man, his pet goldfish and the stupid whore that threatens to tear their happy little world apart.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: So, I've had this fic idea for a while, and I decided to write it finally just cause I love this game so much! Not only does it take place in Spain, where I was an exchange student almost a year ago, but all the people in it speak Spanish! So, I decided to do one of those Dora the Explorer deals with integrated languages, except instead of being good and wholesome, this'll probably be mindrotting while being minimally educational. That's the goal anyway. So, this won't be just ANY Spanish because I speak fluently, you can expect actual Castillian Spanish (Yes, with the lisps and everything. I never wanted to do it, but it just became habit). Yeah... I'll shut up now before anyone really violent decides to hurt me.

Now, just a side note. Spanish dialogue will be in _Italics_ and English dialogue will be normal. Any Spanish in normal text is meant to be butchered, mispronounced and otherwise raped to your heart's content!

Have fun and be sure to tell me what you think! It means the world to me!

**Ch.1: For Heaven's Sake, it's Jack the Goldfish!**

Leon sighed and planted his chin on his fist, and stared out the window, pouting miserably. He thought that if he was being sent to Europe, that it'd be somewhere cool with lots of history and technology, dance clubs filled with foam, bizarre fashions, men's purses that he could justify usingj ust by it being European,and stuff like that. He apparently had been decieved, because what he was experiencing was none of these things. Instead, he was stuck in a stinkin' SUV with a couple of stinkin' Spaniards, forced to listen to their crap music, which to him, seemed like the singers were making up the song with a very talented and patient guitarist somehow managing to keep up with all the insane rungs and random key changes.

He frowned at the Spaniards and returned to staring out the window listlessly. His brow furrowed as he tried to remember why in the world he ended up here. His face loosened as it all suddenly came rushing back to him, reminding him of when that skank Hunnigan barged into his life and brought his world crashing down around his ears in one fell sweep.

The day she ruined his life was a lovely sunday morning. Leon was sitting in his sunny kitchen enjoying the paper with his most favorite person in the world; Jack the goldfish.

His kitchen was sunny mostly because Leon couldn't afford blinds. Nor could he afford a newspaper. The one he was reading was his neighbor's paper, the same old fart he'd been stealing from for the past six years. His neighbor never really wised up, and was so convinced that there had to have been some sort of paperboy error, that he started getting two subscriptions, both of which Leon steals now. He sells the other paper to some hobo that lives in the "out of order" handicap stall in the bathroom on the lobby floor.

He snapped his paper open, accidentally hitting his fist on the doorway. "Ow! Shhhhhiiii-oot!" He cried, promptly sucking on his throbbing knuckles for a moment. Then he forgot the pain he was in and spontaneously decided that he wanted some breakfast, so he scooted his chair away from the kitchen table, smackingt he back of his head solidly on the wall behind him. Today, he apparently forgot that his kitchen was only about four feet wide. He sat huffing and puffing angrily for a moment, and suddenly threw his paper on the floor and took the table by the bottom, flipping it over and busting half of the stuff in his kitchen.

Breaking half of his belongings didn't seem to phase him much, judging by the way he dusted his hands off smirking like an idiot. After he had smirked sufficiently, he turned and took a step-and-a-half to his kitchen and grabbed a piece of stale bread off the table and stuck 'er in the toaster.

He sat back down in his seat and picked up his paper off the floor. Smiling, he turned to his most favorite person in the world, who happened to live in a fishbowl on the coffee table in his livingroom, which stood only three-and-a-half to four feet away. "Sorry, Jack. I didn't mean to scare you." Even if the fish didn't answer, he acted like it had, opening his paper and beginning to read. It took a few paragraphs before he remembered that he doesn't read the paper. So he threw the whole thing (minus the funnies, of course,) on his tinder pile in case he decided he wanted to kindle a fire in his broken oven to fix himself some dinner later on that evening.

He poured himself a cup of something that was probably coffee a week ago and glanced at the spot on the wall that once housed his super special wild songbird clock that used to chirp and twitter pleasantly every hour, on the hour. Its silhouette reminded him that he sold it for fifteen bucks to buy bread and peanut butter, the staple of his diet. No way he could live without his peanut butter toast. He shrugged, fixed his toast and put it in his mouth as he got his aviator jacket on, grabbed his mug of whatsit and headed to the door, assuming he was late to something. Even if he had nowhere to go, he figured he might as well look like he had somewere important to be, because Jack was starting to get upset with him lounging around the house all the time.

He stopped at his apartment door, saying his goodbyes to Jack by raising the mug and grunting incoherently through a mouthful of peanut butter toast. "Thee 'a latha dthack. I-uh bhee bhack thoo."

He stepped out into the hallway, not even bothering to lock the door behind him; he owned nothing valuable, (except for maybe his wild songbirds clock, but as we remember, he already sold that.) and he sadly knew it and acknowledged it. They could always steal Jack, but if they're as desperate as he hoped, they'd know that he's just another mouth to feed. ...However small that mouth is.

Anyway, by the time he'd reached the end of the hall and stepped into the stairwell, he'd already downed his toast and raised the mug to his lips to wash down all that peanut butter with what he hoped was coffee.

It was fractions of an inch from his gaping mouth when he suddenly caught a whiff of something foul. The smell stopped him dead at the top of the stairs. With his face contorted in an odd mix of confusion and utter disgust, he began carefully scanning and smelling his surroundings for the source of the stench. His confusion grew when he couldn't see or smell that godless sin of a smell that had darn near sent him into a coma. Having produced no explanation for his efforts, he proceeded carefully. So, as he walked down the twelve flights of stairs, he kept his nose wary, sure to note every smell and its source.

In his vigil of the world around him, he had overlooked the true culprit; overlooked it, in fact, all the way to the bottom of the stairwell.

When he arrived at the bottom, he stopped and surveyed his surroundings once more. His senses told him nothing, so he absentmindedly went to take a sip as he cautiously eyed the stairwell and stepped into the Lobby.

The questionable substance hit his palatte right as he entered, and it had the same effect as if someone had suddenly taken a cattle prod to his stomach right thern and there. He choked and forcefully spat the liquid everywhere, and gagged loudly. Clutching his stomach, he fell to his knees, and dry heaved a few more times.

When he had finally stopped retching he stood over the garbage can and stared at the mug's contents, as if debating whether or not to drink it. Upon deciding that it wasn't worth the pain, he poured it out in the trash. He paused again with the mug, hoping to think of a way of salvaging it. He shook his head and lazily tossed it in the trashcan, and went on his way.

After he had been to the park, visited three hotdog stands without buying anything, stood in the middle of a construction site for an hour, Impeded traffic, thrown pebbles at pigeons and helped a busfull of nuns cross a busy street, it kinda dawned on him that he REALLY didn't have anything to do.

Since sitting around the park was boring him out of his mind, he figured that it was pretty much the same thing if he went home and sat around there. He could probably curl up on the couch and watch the black and white fuzzies on the TV for a while. Maybe if he concentrated enough, he could see silhouettes of what his neighbors were watching. It was something like doing one of those Magic Eye thingies, except without the books, posters, color or sophistication. He could apologize to Jack for his unproductivity later.

As he was making his way towards the ghetto he called home, the Home-Ghetto as he fondly named it, his butt rang. Actually, it was his long, lost cell phone ringing-- thanks to the government for buying this phone and paying his bill-- and he took it out and answered it. "Hello?"

That was the first word of the conversation that ruined his life. Before he knew it, he was thrown on to a plane and whisked off to Europe. He didn't even get to say goodbye to Jack or find anyone to take care of him! Actually, he didn't trust anybody in his apartment complex, so he probably wouldn't have found anyone anyway. But, what would Jack do without Leon there, the poor dear! The very thought of leaving his beloved pet behind made his insides wrench with guilt and helplessness.

And that's how he ended up here, in the middle of nowhere.

"Joo're a long way from home, Cowboy." the stupid smelly Spaniard that wasn't driving suddenly commented.

Leon slowly turned his head away from the bland scenery to face this foreign idiot.

"Why are you here, really?" the other stupid smelly Spaniard asked. His accent was significantly better.

Scowling, Leon replied. "You know very well why I'm here!"

They just stared at him. Yes, even the driver stared back at him, hitting several small animals along the way.

Leon sighed. For once HE wasn't the idiot here. "My mission is to rescue the President's daughter!"

The two Spaniards snorted and chortled sarcastically, despite the nearly nonexistant state of sarcasm in Castellian Spanish. "All by jourself?"

Our hero had had enough. "Aw, shaddap! Remember that you morons VOLUNTEERED to be here, so cut the crap and cooperate, dammit!"

Leon's harsh words probably didn't register, judging by the way they chuckled to themselves and shrugged their shoulders.

Aside from the non-driving police Spaniard taking a leak at some point, nothing really happened.

Then, an undisclosable amount of time later, the car suddenly stopped and Leon's nose smashed against the window, TOTALLY ruining his day. Leon, with teary eyes from his brutal nose-smashing, looked at the driver questioningly.

"Here it is. The village is that way." Driver Policia said, pointing down a drab looking pathway.

"Hey, aren't you coming?" Leon asked, leaning in between the two front seats.

"_Ah, eso. Pues_, we have to stay here and watch the car." One of them lied. "Don't want to get a Parking ticket."

Leon rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, those are brutal, for sure. Would'nt want to get a parking ticket IN THE MIDDLE OF FREAKING NOWHERE!"

"See, Joo understand! Now get a move on. The President's Daughter is waiting!"

"Who the heck's gonna ticket you? A tree?" Leon screamed, struggling against them as they attempted to shove him out. "NUUU! YOU BAST--"

"_Adios_!" They chimed in unison before slamming the door in Leon's face.

Our hero stood up, dusted off his keester and secretly cursed the useless Spaniards that had assigned themselves to him. He vowed he would see them dead for their crimes.

Having cursed to his bitter heart's content, he headed down the drab pathway and brandished his piece of crap handgun. It made him feel powerful, being able to point and shoot whatever he pleased. He wished he could use it on them... or Hunnigan, but even he knew that wouldn't happen. It didn't hurt to wish, though. To fill the void of not being able to kill his least favorite people, he killed a couple of crows along the way. In hindsight, that probably wasn't a very effective or healthy way to deal with his rage, but then again, Leon is not known for his emotional health. His favorite person is a goldfish, for heaven's sakes!

Suddenly, his transciever began crackling and making that horrible naggy-harpie sound that Hunnigan makes when she talks to him. He shuddered and glanced down at the transciever at his hip. It conjured too many bad memories and emotions even considering answering the blasted thing, so he just turned the volume down and continued on toward the ominous-looking house.

The door was even left open for him! "Maybe these rural Spaniards will be more friendly than... the Policia." he thought to himself vengefullyas he entered the suspicious home without any guilt.

Was it just him or did the guy that lived there have emphysema or something? He turned the corner determined to preach this guy straight about the dangers of smoking. He spotted the fat Spanish guy standing in front of his fireplace, poking at the fire as if he had nothing better to do.

"Kay, dude, you really gotta lay off the smokes. I could hear your coughing from a mile away."

The fat man stared at him.

Nervously, Leon cleared his throat. "Um... Ahem."

He just kept staring.

"What? What is it? Is there something on my face?" Leon asked anxiously.

It was then the Spanish man spoke. "_Hombre, que dices? Que no me he enterado de nada!" ("Man, what are you saying? I didn't understand anything!")_

Leon had one of those forehead smacking moments. "Of course! You speak Spanish!" He chuckled and approached the man and clapped him on the shoulder. "Sorry, man! Here I come acting like the Ugly American, totally just BARGING in here, speaking English like I own the place!"

The man slapped Leon's hand off his shoulder. "_No me toques, tontolabas. A mi no se me toque nadie." ("Don't touch me, you nincompoop. Nobody touches me.")_

"Man, I really feel dumb. I can't apologize enough." Leon said, offering his hand to the stranger.

Eyeing Leon's hand suspiciously, he asked a question that, of course, Leon didn't understand. "_Y que quieres que haga con la mano? Te recomiendo que la retiras, que no puedo ser responsable por lo que la pasara si no hagas lo que te digo." ("And what do you want me to do with your hand? I recommend that you take it back, because I can't be held responsible for what happens to it if you don't do what I tell you.")_

"Oh, right! Spanish!" Leon said, switching to High-school Spanish class mode. "Ho-la! Cohmo essstas? Me llamo Leon. Yo soy de los Estados Unidos. De donde erres too?"

Fat man looked confused. "_El que? Cual idioma era eso? Ruso o algo?" ("Huh? What language was that? Russian or something?")_

"Crud." Leon swore. "I can't understand a word this guy is saying! Why the Hell didn't I pay attention to Senorita Sanchez back in high school!"

El Espanol watched Leon lament his total lack of lingual skill, however not understanding anything, and decided that this guy was enough of an idiot that Saddler would probably let him kill him, even if he hadn't confirmed the guy's identity. The Villagers were under strict orders not to murder just anybody who came by, seeing as this reflected badly on the village.

As Leon scolded himself, the villager turned away and reached for his hatchet...

To Be Continued... Maybe. Perhaps some positive feedback might change my mind... :Shameless selling out:


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: To be completely honest, I'm rather disappointed that my story got about fifty times more hits than I got reviews. Oh well, such is the harsh reality of fanfiction. Anyway, I hope the three who left me reviews enjoy this chapter, AND they all get cookies. I bet all the rest of you wish you all had cookies. Oh, and I hope that anyone else who enjoys it this time around leaves a good word. Y'know, cause that's real encouraging and all...

**Ch.2: Demon Dogs and the Most Graceful Leap In the Universe!**

The fat Spaniard turned to face our semi-competent hero and grasped his hatchet tightly.

Meanwhile, Leon had finished scolding himself and suddenly whipped a photo out of his cargo pocket, startling the homely man before him with his snazzy photo whipping skills.

Stopped dead with Leon holding the photo just fractions of an inch before his face, the man made eye contact with his foe, stimulating undesired conversation. Leon was much faster than he had anticipated.

Leon drew a deep breath to start shouting, because he figured that if talking at normal volume in a language the guy didn't speak didn't get him anywhere, then shouting ought to get something across. "HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRL! RUMOR IS THAT YOU BASTARDS CAPTURED HER!"

The man chortled. _"Ah. Entonces eres el idiota que mandaron para rescatarla?" ("Ah. Then you're the idiot they sent to rescue her.") _He shook his head and clucked his tongue. "_La pobre..." ("Poor thing...)_

"Damn!" Leon said, slapping himself in the forehead. "The SOB's still speaking Spanish!" ...as if he ought to be speaking English by now. Leon rubbed his temples and sat down at the man's dinner table. "Man, I think this job might be too much for me."

The man joined him. "_Crees que si?" ("You think so?)_

"I mean, they never mentioned anything about foreign language! Even the Policia spoke English!"

He gave Leon a surprised look. "_En serio? No te habian mencionado nada del idioma?" ("Seriously? They hadn't mentioned anything to you about the language?")_

"Nothing! I got nothing to work with here!"

"_Pues, se como es. Lo tengo todo muy duro tambien." ("Well, I know how it is. I've got it all pretty hard, too.")_

"I'll bet you have it hard-- I mean, you live in a freaking craphole. Like living in a freaking armpit."

Fat man looked around and shrugged. _"Es verdad." ("That's true.")_

Leon sighed and stood up. "Well, I kinda have a job to do." He had to stop and think about what he just said.

_"Y yo tambien._"_("As do I.") _The fat man said, standing up to meet him.

Yeah... A job to do." He confirmed to himself, taking the fat man's hand and shaking it. He turned and started heading to the door.

_"Oye, mis vecinos estan esperandote afuera, asi que ten cuidadito." ("Hey, my neighbors are waiting for you outside, so be careful.")_ The fat man called after him.

"Yeah, gotcha." Leon stepped out the door, waving off the Spaniard's last comment. As he walked down the overgrown path from the house, he burped and then suddenly realized how hungy he was. Yes, hungy. Leon knows no grammar or spelling. How badly he wanted some peanut butter toast right then and there could never be expressed in words. Or maybe it could. But he's not the most articulate guy around. Anyway, that was when he felt the scythe handle smack the back of his head.

A fountain of unwritable expletives poured out of our hero's mouth as he cradled the huge goose egg on his head in his hands. Furious, he swung around ready to beat the living crap out of the first living thing he laid eyes on. And darn it all, it was the only thing that could put a damper on his fury; a party of three armed Ganados, and he couldn't believe what they were saying.

_"Cabron!"_

_"Miralo! Esta vivo!"_

_"Te voy a hacer picadillo!"_

It was time to put the smack down. He would tolerate no more of this "foreign language" crap. "Y'all want some of this?"

The Ganados stopped and stared.

He drew his handgun and cocked it. "Come get some!" he declared, gun brandished, with his free hand beckoning them in that hardcore Kung-fu style.

The youngest glanced questioningly at his older and fatter counterparts, who just shrugged in reply. Plucking up his courage, he pulled a scythe out that was magically magnetized to his rear and charged. "AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Leon got out his combat knife, but then decided in favor of roundhouse kicking the guy in the side of the head instead of attempting to hack him limb from limb. Then he capped him once and declared him dead. Leon was feeling really cool until he remembered Hatchetman and Pitchforkman still wanted a piece, that he, quite frankly, was not ready to dish. He suddenly remembered he valued his life far more than anything else, and thus pushed past his foes, running as fast as his little legs could carry him.

As soon as he reached the road, he heard tires squeal and what sounded oddly similar to the only bridge out of town being destroyed along with the Policia's SUV go crashing into the ravine. But hey, that's just what it sounded like.

Nevertheless, he didn't bother to go see, as he didn't care much for the Policia, and he wouldn't have gone anyway, because he was being pursued by a couple of bloodthirsty maniacs.

The tannish-brownish-yellowish scenery seemed to fly past him. He picked up at least three more raving psychos along the way, making him feel like he was heading the pack in some sort of large and reputable marathon. He'd always wanted to be a marathon runner. Of course, he was never willing to put in the endless hours of training, but that didn't stop him from aspiring to it. Actually, it would have been nice to succeed in anything, but what can you do?

A whimpering, whelping sound drifted into his ear, and as soon as he put two and two together, an awkward-looking husky dog came into view. It appeared to be caught in a bear trap. He dashed past the dog, laughing heartily at its misfortune.

One of his pursuers suddenly collapsed, his leg caught in a bear trap. The thought never crossed Leon's mind that there could be more than one trap set in the area. He began tiptoeing and prancing his way through the field as traps snapped at him left and right. While striking a ballet pose to dodge a hatchet, he became painfully aware of the tripwire that was rapidly approaching. It was hooked up between two trees to something that looked suspiciously like dynamite on both ends. Dynamite or not, he had to take his chances.

He sped up his pace and performed the most graceful leap the world had ever seen. The kind you could watch in slow mo and put to classical music. But, unfortunately, the only people to witness such a feat clotheslined the booby trap and were vaporized, even the guy standing ten feet up the hill.

Leon brushed the villager dust off his clothes and determined it was safe to go back and laugh at the trapped dog, so he did just that.

"HA HA HA! YOU STUPID DOG!"

The dog whined and looked up at him pitifully.

Leon snorted. "It's your own fault you got in there. Why don't you figure out a way to get yourself out?" He snickered; the dog would never win.

The dog stopped struggling and hung its head. When the dog didn't move for a while, Leon got a bit nervous. He began reaching out his hand when suddenly the husky snapped at him. He shrieked and recoiled. Its furious eyes met his and the beast began growling and snarling wildly.

"YOU'LL RUE THE DAY YOU CROSSED ME!" The dog's demon voice bellowed, sending a wave of evil energy over the field, flattening all the grass. Then it disappeared in a cloud of blood-red and black smoke, leaving Leon to think about what he just did.

That was another one of those moments that he wished hadn't happened, so he stood up and continued on his way as if nothing had happened.

To Be Continued... Next chapter: Character Building Riots! Will Leon put an end to all the Spanish Speaking, or be torn apart doing it!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: It's a sad day when I'm happy to get two or three reviews... Read and review. Every time you read without reviewing, Salazar bites the head off a live and happy chicken. Keep the chickens in your thoughts, mmkay?

Oh, by the way, I've decided to sack the Spanish translation thing mainly because it's a pain in the butt to do italics and crap like that when you're on a laptop using a finger-mouse pad thing. Besides, after two chapters, you all know I speak Spanish now, right? I've done enough showing off. crowd cheers

Also, this chapter gets a little more violent than the last chapters, so bear with me. It's gonna get KUH-RAZY! Well, as if you COULDN'T write a RE fic without explicit gore and violence...

**Ch.3: Character-building Riots!**

Leon S. Kennedy was happily traipsing along the trail to town, as if he hadn't a care in the world, as if he hadn't been chased by crazy villagers and had been cursed by an awkward husky-dog demon just minutes ago.

Anyway, traipsing along the brown path into the brown unknown, his transceiver suddenly began to crackle and emit that harpy's wretched voice.

"Leon! Are you there? I thought I heard gunfire! Answer me Leon!"

He stopped dead and snatched the contraption off his belt in an almost startled motion and glared at it.

She sighed. "Leon, look. I'm sorry if I've done anything to upset you. Will you please say something? Anything?"

Leon looked like a crippled deer in the headlights. Not even the villagers bothered him as much as her. Suddenly, and very unexpectedly, the cogs in his brain started turning, and he got an idea. Revolutionary, I know. A very sly, smug look spread across his face. Putting his plan into action, he slowly raised his free hand and very carefully began shifting it towards the power switch.

"Don't even think about it, Leon. I can see you on-screen."

"Damnit..." Thwarted again!

She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "I can see you're angry with me."

Leon pouted and looked away.

She took a deep breath and swallowed her pride. Damned code and ethics... "Look, if there's anything I can do to make it up to you,"

That piqued his interest. "I know what you can do for me."

"Alright... What is it?" She queried reluctantly, praying in her heart of hearts that it wasn't something stupid or perverted.

"..."

She gulped. "Leon?"

"The next time I have to hear your voice wailing over the transceiver, you damn well better have Jack with you. I want to see him to be sure."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Jack? Who's that?

"My pet goldfish."

She burst out in a fit of laughter.

Leon sensed her amusement, and frowned, looking very hurt. "I better see him next time you decide to call... Or I can't be held responsible for what may or may not happen," adding under his breath, "You stupid whore." And then he clicked the transceiver off, dramatically, and very, very smugly. Hunnigan, on the other end, was mad as Hell, but the transceiver's off, so we won't bother with such a LESSER being. ...Yet.

Having "served" Hunnigan, Leon could now go on his merry way in the general direction of the village. He thought that he wouldn't have to deal with her for at least a couple of days. He did, however, want to see Jack as soon as possible. So... maybe it'd be better if she WERE more resourceful than he gave her credit for.

This was about the point where his attention span waxed utterly thin, resulting in a fit of running through the scrub and brush after a white butterfly. Shortly thereafter, he was chased out shrieking like a girl by some strategically placed bear traps. When he felt like he had screwed around long enough, he moved on.

Along the path were a few shanties which Leon just assumed he could enter and ransack, doing just that! There was a typewriter in the first one, but it just fell apart as soon as Leon touched it. It probably wouldn't have fallen apart for anyone else. A fat Spaniard could take a hatchet, blow torch and hand grenade to it, and it would probably be in better condition than he found it. Leon had the sort of luck that broke almost everything he touched. However, guns were a different story. Guns, being his kindred spirits as tools of chaos and destruction, seemed to be the only things that didn't go to pieces in his hands. The transceiver had to be running out of luck…

In another one of the shanties, he came upon a potted plant. Something about the way the lighting seemed to shift around it drew his interest and made him want to think that it was incredibly important. He picked it up and examined it carefully. Then he yanked the plant out of the pot and tossed it into his mouth without a second thought. "Mmm! This is almost as good as peanut butter toast! And even better that it's free, too!" He mindlessly ate all the herbs he came across until he found one in a shanty with a woman tacked to the wall by a spike through her head. She kinda grossed him out, you know, just hanging there, so he decided to hold on to that last herb for later, when his appetite came back.

It wasn't long after he stepped out of that last shanty that he saw what he suspected to be the entrance to the village. Instead of doing the stealthy agent thing-- hiding and sizing up the situation, Leon just stood there, gaping. "They're having a weenie roast without me!"

He had spotted the bonfire, but was apparently unaware of the corpse impaled on the spike, and went charging in with all the enthusiasm of a bull running rampant through the streets of Madrid. He dashed in and stopped at the foot of the enormous bonfire, warming his hands in its glow.

"Hey, any of you guys got a stick?" Leon asked the villagers standing around him. "I know this is a weenie roast, and I would have come prepared normally, but I wasn't planning on anything like this, so…"

They all stared at him. They knew he was coming, but they didn't think he'd just come charging in like that…

Leon searched his person. Let's see… He had a flashlight, ammo, a conveniently semi-existent attaché case, one herb, a pistol, a knife, some gum and a lock of Jack the goldfish's hair. Wait, scratch that last one. That's not even possible. He DID have a lock of somebody's hair, though…

Then suddenly, like a sign from heaven, his transceiver started to crackle and emit noise. He turned to the villagers sheepishly and gave them that "just a sec," gesture, and left to deal with Hunnigan. He had totally forgotten about his transceiver with the RIDICULOUSLY LONG RETRACTING ANTENNA! After a short (VERY short) inner battle, he clicked the talk button and said, "STOP SAYING WORDS!" and snapped off the antenna without a second thought.

Marching victoriously, he returned to the group of confused villagers. "Alright, where are the weenies?"

They gave each other questioning looks and whispered among themselves. Our hero grew more puzzled with every second he didn't see weenies. Deciding that it was WAY too awkward to just stand there and stare at them, he turned to the bonfire and started glancing around nervously. It was at that moment he saw the corpse. "Yech."

He wasn't so much frightened as he was disgusted by this gruesome display and wondered if the corpse was anyone he knew. That jacket he was wearing was so familiar. Like he'd seen it only a moment ago… It read 'Policia.' He knew some Policia! "OH MY GOSH!" He cried, slapping his cheeks, "I totally know this guy!"

Yes, he had just only realized that it was one of his archenemies. The villagers had killed Leon's archenemy for him. It was a known fact that someone taking care of whatever Leon had started was one of his biggest pet peeves.

With a murderous gleam in his eye, he turned to the villagers. He pointed at the corpse burning at the stake. "How could you do this? Was he a witch or something?" No answer. "How could you bastards kill him? I WAS SUPPOSED TO KILL HIM!"

The whole was taken aback. Even if they didn't know what he was saying, it's universally a bad thing when someone yells. The bravest fat man took out his pitchfork and jabbed it at Leon forcefully. Leon dodged it with surprising grace.

The people started closing in on him, others coming out of their hiding places to join the fun half-circle slowly enveloping our hero. Leon drew his gun and checked to see if it was still loaded. "I see how it is." He said. The people brandished their weapons threateningly.

Everything came to a standstill, each waiting for the other to make the first move. A bald man in a wife beater to Leon's right took the first swing, and Leon sidestepped it, pistol whipping said bald man on his way down. Somebody screamed and sent all the people into a frenzy of flying farm tools and implements. Leon dodged most all of them except a hatchet that nicked his left shoulder, splitting the shoulder of his HAWT aviator jacket open a little. Leon shrieked like a little girl and ducked a flying pitchfork. Desperate for a way out of the crowd, he dove between a psychotic woman's legs, who screeched and returned the favor by stabbing him nicely in the butt on his way through.

He howled and grabbed his buttocks while the crazy woman cackled madly in the background. He checked his butt, and found that she had left a neat little blood-stain on the right butt cheek of his pants, making him scowl and shake his fist at her angrily. Then he remembered that he was in middle of a hardcore fray and sought refuge at the nearest house, only to find that it was boarded up and the steps leading up to the door were rotted through to the point where they were completely unusable. The windows were all boarded shut, too.

Seeing no other option, he ran out the entrance of the village, only to find it magically blocked by more stupid villagers. He looked behind to see the others closing in on him.

When it seemed that all hope was lost, he noticed an alternate pathway into the village that had evaded him before because of his nonexistent attention span. He took the path and re-entered the village, going along the side of the useless house to a pile of logs where he found a wooden box. He smiled to himself. Yup, he knew what to do with these. He lifted it up over his head and smashed it on the ground to reveal a red version of the herb he found earlier. He picked it up without another thought and got a short running start to dive through the window of the house behind him.

Shaking the glass off himself, he re-established his position and backed himself into a corner where he could easily see the window he just jumped through and the door.

The sounds of the villagers' moaning and Spanish-speaking grew closer. They began pounding on the door. He could hear them surrounding the house.

One young villager came into view and began climbing through the broken window, three or four more standing behind him, waiting for their turn. Leon cocked his gun and fired, striking the young one on the shoulder, forcing him into the crowd gathering behind him. They all stumbled and Leon shot another in the head, making it explode like a ripe melon. His face cringed at the sight.

The other villagers were close to breaking down the door and all Leon could think about was his throbbing backside. He capped a few more villagers through the window and hopped over the window sill. Outside, he was instantly spotted by the mob, and he ran like a madman around to the front of the house next door, hopping the fence around the front door and slamming the door behind him. He spotted a dresser and pushed it in front of the door, and pushed a bookcase in front of a window, hoping that this would hold long enough for him to ransack the house.

He spotted two barrels sitting nicely side by side underneath the stairs. Oh, yes. He recognized that old weathered wood. It was the old weathered wood of anything that could be busted open to yield goodies. His only problem was getting them open. He tried lifting them, but that wasn't happening. They weren't wooden boxes, you know. Then he had an epiphany and poked them with his knife. Interestingly enough, they fell apart instantaneously. The pounding of the mob's fists and weapons on the door and window didn't leave him long to ponder the mystery of the barrels, so he dashed upstairs to see what he could see.

Upstairs was a dirty bed with shotgun ammo on it, and a grenade in a cabinet. He took the grenade and stuffed it in his coat pocket and pocketed the shotgun ammo.

He turned and noticed the shotgun's reverent beauty hanging on a silly-looking gun rack/picture frame on the wall. With teary eyes, Leon took that beauteous piece of machine in his hands and caressed its every angle. Destructive power practically flowed from its being. With love in his eyes, he said, "I christen thee Mimsy."

Suddenly, Leon's tender moment was rudely interrupted by the revving of chainsaws downstairs. With new resolve, Leon cocked the shotgun one-handedly and stood at the top of the stairs to send a warm greeting to his Spanish friends.

To be continued… Will Mimsy's new added strength give Leon what he needs to survive? Tune in next time…


End file.
